Shotgun
by GiorgiaKerr
Summary: There is only so much temptation Danny can handle, and Martin seems intent on pushing his limits. D/M fluff!
1. Chapter 1

**Spoilers:** Meh. I can't even remember the last episode of WAT I watched. It hasn't been on in ages...

**Disclaimer:** I got my door back! Well, a new one, but it's there. I can officially close my door again. Thank God. I was beginning to go insane. hey! Longest chapter I've ever, ever written!

**Author's Note:** Well, haven't had a lot of time to write this week/month (or _any_ time, for that matter) but I'm now babysitting two sleeping children, so all is well. Laptops are nifty... Ha, the first bit I wrote whilst babysitting, and the end I wrote while babysitting the same kids. Funny how things work out.

* * *

Danny surveyed the people sitting around them automatically. Years in the FBI had taught him to always be aware and subconsciously cognisant of his surroundings. It was a fantastic tool in the field, but socially, it was just obnoxious.

In front of him was a girl, maybe twenty, who had checked her phone eight times in the past five minutes with a hopeful expression. Danny, despite finding the anxiety rather amusing, felt quite sorry for the girl. Her slightly hurt expression told him just whose call she was expecting.

On a large table to his right sat a group of very Manhattan just-post-middle-aged women – each desperately trying to deny their age. Artfully dyed blonde hair, all decked out in pale pink and bone white, the occasional pearl string. Danny couldn't help the derisive snort he emitted. There was definitely something to be said for ageing gracefully.

Danny laughed as one woman left, then pulled up right in front of the bar five minutes later in a convertible, air-kissed a few cheeks, then returned to the car with a man previously unseen by Danny.

Danny grinned and cast his glance around his own group. Samantha, Elena, Viv and even Jack seemed to be happy just to be outside the office. Martin, who had previously looked somewhere awkwardly between bored and preoccupied, was now grinning privately, eyes glued to the couple in the convertible. He turned and met Danny's eyes, as if aware that they were gleaning entertainment from the same thing.

He flicked his head in the direction of the table of ladies.

"Quite a catch, that guy," Martin deadpanned. Danny smirked.

"Yeah," he agreed, pausing for effect. "He's only fifty."

Martin just about spat out his beer. The rest of the team cast a glance at the pair, then moved back to their conversation. Sam, Elena, Jack and Viv were discussing their children, albeit casually. Everything from diapers to schooling to hormones.

It seemed an incredibly unlikely topic for the group, but it was not only something very, very removed from work, but it was safe as long as it didn't get too personal. The peripheral 'stuff' was doable. It was also just about the only thing they had in common.

Well, all except Martin and Danny. Danny, really, was quite happy to stay out of the conversation; kids were not his strong point. He could talk to them, comfort them, even relate to them; but he could never _parent_ them.

He knew, however, that it did affect Martin. Despite the small amount of information Danny had gleaned on Martin and Samantha's relationship, he did know that their breaking up had involved a white-picket fence and the benefits of suburban child-rearing.

Because of this, Danny had taken it upon himself to keep Martin away from the conversation topic as best he could. Not that it was working very well. Martin was Martin after all. It was hard to be an FBI agent if you could only focus on one thing at a time, and Martin tended to be keenly aware. Even when off duty, like now.

Danny wasn't the only one who found Martin's inability to shut off frustrating. Every time Martin heard Samantha mention her baby, there was this expression that adorned not only her face, but Jack's as well. It drove him insane.

It wasn't like he wasn't over Samantha. He truly was. Well, mostly. But what annoyed him was that Jack and Samantha could make it work when he couldn't. Martin Fitzgerald had never been second best at anything. That kind of failure wasn't allowed in the Fitzgerald lineage. Though, he thought, he couldn't imagine his father being too torn up about him losing Samantha. There was always something wrong with the women he dated.

Martin was torn between wanting to believe his father really did want what was best for him and truly believing that his father was just a high-achieving narcissist. He was glad, in a way, that he hadn't yet found a new girlfriend. It saved him the cruelty of introducing her to his parents; that wasn't a fate he wanted to inflict upon anyone. Least of all someone he was trying to convince to spend the rest of their life with him.

Martin looked back from Samantha to Danny with a contemplative frown. Danny's smile was sympathetic. "Want another one?" he asked, tipping his head towards Martin's beer. Marin regarded his beer as if he'd forgotten it was there.

"Uh, yeah, sure," he agreed. Danny smiled charmingly and stood up.

"Anyone else for another?" There were mixed responses from around the table. At least three of four included, "I have to get home". Danny winced inwardly. He and Martin: the pathetic bachelors. All Danny really had to get home to was his heater, which he suddenly remembered he'd left on. He was sure there was a game on tonight, too.

It wasn't the most desirable way to pass the time, but the most desirable way wasn't an option anyway. He cast a glance at Martin before walking up to the bar. As soon as the bartender moved, Danny felt someone come up beside him. He turned to find Martin leaning a haunch on one of the barstools with a lopsided self-mocking grin.

"Couldn't take it anymore," he said. Danny was shocked; Martin was actually acknowledging his discontent, if indirectly. Danny returned the smile.

"Yeah. Makes us sound pretty pathetic, huh?"

Martin chuckled bitterly. "Yeah," was all he said. Danny watched as Martin looked back over to the table, eyes pausing not-so-subtly on Samantha.

"Wanna talk about it?" Danny offered as casually as he could. Martin frowned only momentarily before taking in a deep breath.

"No, not really." He paused for a second as his mask slipped again into place. "I'm fine. Probably just tired." Danny debated arguing with him. He'd learned that Martin needed a little push, sometimes. Or, rather, a thirty-tonne shove. "I think I'm off."

Danny smirked. "Oh, come on! You can't leave me here," he decreed. Martin didn't look convinced. "Besides, who's gonna drink your beer? Me?" he asked pointedly. Martin looked at Danny as if for confirmation that he was indeed joking before smiling.

"Fine, but this is the last one," he said matter-of-factly. "I have to get home," he added cynically. Danny grinned and gathered the remaining drinks before heading back to his colleagues. Surprisingly, after a few contemplative seconds, Martin followed.

Danny smiled at this small victory, before sitting down and taking an inconspicuous sip of his soda. He felt half way between proud and pathetic with his soda. Though, when he gave his overactive ego a nice smack, he was definitely happy. He'd almost convinced himself he hated the taste of alcohol. Almost.

Being here, however, was easy. Well, compared to how it had been five years ago. Hell, five _months_ ago. Besides, he had something just as desirable to focus on. And something just as untouchable.

Danny cleared his throat, dragging his eyes away from his partner. His meter swung swiftly further in the direction of 'Pathetic'. Being in the bar was making his head spin, sober or not.

Just then, to Danny's great relief, Samantha stood up. "I'm off," she said, feigning resignation. Jack stood up and placed a hand on her back automatically.

"I'll walk you out," he said to her, muttering a goodbye to the rest of the team. Viv chuckled at the not-so-subtle pair. Elena downed the rest of her drink.

"It's getting dark out: that's my cue to leave," she sighed.

"Bye," the remaining three answered appropriately before heaving simultaneous sighs. Viv smiled almost regretfully, though both Danny and Martin knew she was glad to be going home.

"Night guys," she said sweetly.

"Night, Viv," they answered together. Viv laughed and shook her head at the chorus before gathering her things and heading for the door. Danny looked at Martin, frowning.

"Why do I feel like we've just been ditched?" he asked rhetorically. Martin snorted.

"Probably because we have."

Danny smirked back in shared self-mockery. After a few seconds, the smiles faded, expressions becoming more serious. Martin broke eye contact, looking back at his empty glass. Danny inwardly rolled his eyes; he was sick of this. He made a decision.

Motioning to Martin's glass, Danny spoke up. "Hey, you wanna grab a coffee?" he offered casually. "You could probably use one if you're driving home," he added, seeing the indecision on Martin's face.

Both Danny and Martin knew that was a lie. Martin would never drink too much with his colleagues around, least of all Danny. Really, it was unlikely that he would drink too much outside the comfort of his own home. As FBI agents, they knew the dangers associated with inebriation in public, and they were usually smarter than to take the risk.

As it was, Martin regarded his glass then sighed. "Yeah, sounds good," he agreed with a crooked smile. Danny fought the urge to laugh; Martin had actually agreed. He pulled out a couple of notes and pinned them under one of the empty glasses with the rest of the tips from the team before grabbing his coat. It wasn't until he looked back to Martin that he realised that Martin was still watching him with the same half-cocked smile as before.

Danny frowned at him curiously. It reminded him of the conversation they'd had in the squad room that day a few years ago. _Secrets – they're a bitch_. Danny had seen this expression before, but had absolutely no idea what it meant. That, combined with the look itself, just about drove him insane. There were times when he would swear Martin returned his own... affections. But then he'd resign himself to the fact that he would never know. Which – if he was honest – was probably worse.

As Martin stood up, Danny snapped himself out of his own mind. It wasn't often a very safe place to be; especially around Martin. Considering most of these thoughts centred _around_ Martin, he was pretty happy to be distracted. Unfortunately, the distraction always seemed to _be_ Martin.

The fact that Danny had thought Martin's name four times in the last two seconds made this fact disturbingly obvious. To try and alleviate some of the awkwardness – though, Danny was sure he was the only one feeling it – Danny tried to focus on something menial.

"Where we goin'?" he asked, just a little too smoothly. Martin cast a glance at him as they left the bar.

"Where's close?" he asked in turn. Danny shivered as the cold pre-winter chill hit him full force, and he pulled his coat tighter around himself. To his shock, Martin's hand came to his shoulder, gripping it firmly, as if concerned. "You okay?" he asked.

Danny was glad for the fading sun as his cheeks reddened, only partially out of embarrassment. "It's cold," he said, shrugging it off, forcing all the images of what those hands could really do out of his head. "I'm not quite used to it yet. Seasonal transitions aren't my strong suit," he added with a smile. Martin returned it, patting Danny on the back cordially before shoving it in his own pocket.

Neither said anything as they wandered down the street to the nearest place with decent coffee; not surprisingly the same place they generally ended up in after work. Danny had to fight another shudder every time his shoulder brushed Martin's. It wasn't often at all that there was any physical contact between the two, but when there was, Danny was constantly amazed at the warmth that spread from wherever the contact was made.

He was also constantly amazed at his powers of self-control. As it was, he had a feeling that if he hadn't had FBI training he'd have jumped Martin a long, long time ago. He shook himself once more as he realised his train of thought had strayed to Martin again.

Danny had hardly registered that they were at the coffee shop until Martin's hand found his shoulder again, briefly ushering him through the door with a smile.

"Usual?" he asked Danny, who nodded with a smile. Martin frowned as he joined Danny at a small table in the nearly-deserted room. "You sure you're okay? You seem distant."

Danny was shocked. Martin wasn't usually one to ask such questions; at least not directly. He smiled. "Yeah, I'm just tired, I suppose," he lied obviously. "I'm just glad I don't have to work tomorrow," he added. Martin grinned in consensus.

Danny noted with fascination that the agreement between himself and Martin was very rarely spoken. He couldn't believe he'd never noticed it before.

There was a few minutes of silence as the two stared at each other, nothing to say. It wasn't often that they were alone together, and less often in a social situation. And usually that was a work function.

And those Martin tended to avoid as much as possible; a public hiding – or commendation, for that matter – was the last thing he needed from his father. Victor could be ashamed in the privacy of his own home.

Danny and Martin broke eye contact as the waiter placed their coffees in front of them, both muttering thanks. The waiter nodded in acceptance. Danny briefly wondered what had happened to the word 'yes'.

"You're working Monday?" Danny asked suddenly, lamely. Martin cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Though, knowing New York, I'll probably get called in at two o'clock tomorrow morning," he added, a little more comfortably. Joking about work was easy; it was safe; it was a territory they both knew well. Danny thought it rather sick that they couldn't hold a comfortable conversation that didn't revolve around work, despite having a closer relationship than most couples he knew.

"God, that'd be horrible," Danny complained, leaning back in his chair and sticking his legs out under the table. "I really am tired." Danny yawned as he realised that he actually was. At least the excuse hadn't been a total lie. Martin, in a rare moment of comfort, mimicked his partner's position.

Danny nearly choked on his coffee as he felt Martin's leg slide up his own as he sunk in his chair ever so slightly. It took a few seconds for either to react, both dragging themselves up, hoping the other hadn't noticed the pause.

Or the sharp intakes of breath.

Fortunately for each of them, both had been so focused on covering their own reactions that they'd missed the other's.

To pass the time – and awkwardness - Martin picked up a laminated flyer from the table, advertising the coffee they were drinking. Reading the first few lines, he snorted, catching Danny's attention.

Looking up to meet Danny's curious expression, Martin read aloud, amusement having obliterated the awkwardness of before.

"...a bouquet of sensational flavours and a bitterness paradoxical to its sweet but pungent aroma..."

Danny grinned, but frowned cynically. "Oh, God save us," he groaned, looking accusingly at the offending coffees.

"Sounds like it's describing a wino's wet dream," Martin added dryly.

_If only_, Danny thought cynically as he remembered the feeling of Martin's leg against his. There was no doubt in Danny's mind that this would stick with him tonight. _All _night. This thought caused a spasm of laughter in Danny.

Martin suddenly looked guilty. "Sorry," he apologised meekly, misconstruing Danny's outburst and reaching out to fiddle with the sugar pot.

Danny raised an eyebrow in the way Martin had grown so used to. Danny smirked.

"It's okay, man," he assured Martin. "I know my past, and I can accept it, even if I don't like it," he added with a smile. Martin's fiddling was beginning to make _him_ uncomfortable; Martin really wasn't one to fidget. Danny wondered what had gotten him to act like this.

Martin, on the other hand, was slightly annoyed that Danny seemed so calm. He figured maybe, just maybe he had imagined the jolt of something he didn't want to name when their legs touched. If he was honest, it was less of a jolt and more of a current; he was still in the aftershock, proverbial sparks still flickering over his skin.

"Sorry," Martin apologised. "It's just-"

"I know," Danny interrupted, putting his palm on the top of the sugar pot and pushing it to the table, his fingers bushing Martin's.

Martin was now doubting – _seriously_ – whether those sparks were proverbial after all. A totally different thing occurred to Danny as their fingers touched.

"Are _you_ okay?" he asked, genuine concern in his voice. He kicked himself inwardly for not asking sooner, for not _thinking_ of asking sooner.

Martin smiled and nodded, knowing where the concern had come from. The two of them shared a bond that no one else on the team understood. Very few people had a relationship as close as that partners shared, but the first time Danny noticed something was wrong with Martin, the first time Martin let Danny in, let him help; there was something more. It wasn't just a partnership, it was an understanding.

And that made everything so much more complicated.

* * *

Danny quirked an eyebrow. "Bowling? Really?" he asked, totally amused. "Your dad used to take you _bowling_?"

Martin grinned back, fighting the urge to hit Danny playfully as they wandered down the street to their cars. Though Danny had to admit, Martin looked almost embarrassed – but Danny knew better than that. Martin Fitzgerald did not get embarrassed.

"I said _took_ me. As in once," Martin corrected. Danny chuckled. "I absolutely sucked," Martin added without shame. "Which was probably good considering how much I hated it."

They both laughed. "The great Victor Fitzgerald; bowling," Danny mocked with a smirk. "But never his son," he added, shaking his head.

"God, no. I was so bad that he probably wouldn't ever have _let_ me play again," Martin said, pulling a face. Danny's smile turned from mocking to wryly sympathetic.

"A quick-fix solution to the 'Fitzgeralds-don't-fail' policy," Danny added, finishing Martin's thought. Martin snorted.

"You sound like you know what you're talking about." It was Martin's turn to pull a sympathetic face. Danny just smiled in his innocent-but-sceptical manner.

"I know _you_," was all his explanation. Martin smiled. It was true: Danny knew Martin better than anyone bar his mother – when she was paying attention.

"Yeah," Martin agreed quietly, a half-smile gracing his face. Yet again, there was no speaking while Danny and Martin smiled at one another.

Oh, God. Danny was really getting sick of this. There were only so many times in one night that this could happen and Danny maintain his sanity. Or at the very least his dignity. And he was already depressingly past his quota.

Suddenly realising how cold it still was, Danny shoved his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders as they approached Martin's car.

"I'll see you Monday, then," he told Martin as casually as possible, giving him a half-smile. Turning around, he stopped when a hand gripped his forearm. He looked up at Martin's face, adorned with an unreadable expression.

"You parked far?" he asked cryptically. Danny was a bit confused by the question, but shook his head.

"I caught the subway this morning. My car decided to have a sudden attack of Frozen Engine Syndrome, and I was going to be late if I waited for a mechanic," he explained. At Martin's mocking eyebrow raise, Danny continued indignantly. "I can't fix my car. Anything pre-mechanical-systems that doesn't run on autopilot and GPS, I can handle. But these damn mechanical systems... Dude, I grew up in Florida."

Danny hadn't realised how much he'd said until Martin started to laugh. "Streetwise as ever," he said playfully. Danny snorted but otherwise remained silent.

"You wanna ride?" Martin asked casually. Instantly, Danny mentally debated the pros and cons of taking up Martin's offer. On the one hand, he didn't have to catch a train; on the other hand, Martin, himself and enclosed spaces never seemed to be particularly conducive to maintaining hormonal control.

But as a gust of wind ruffled through Danny's hair, chilling him right through, he nodded to Martin.

"Sure," he agreed before he realised what he was doing. Martin smiled crookedly as Danny waited for Martin to move; he was standing in front of the passenger-seat door. When he didn't, Danny shot him a questioning look. Just as Danny opened his mouth to ask Martin what was going on, Martin stepped aside.

Barely.

Danny knew that if Martin didn't move any further, one step towards the door would put him in a very compromising situation. He assumed that as soon as he moved, however, that Martin would follow suit, despite his suddenly weird behaviour.

Boy, was he wrong.

As Danny stepped forward, Martin smiled, as if he'd just made a decision before half-turning to gracefully pin Danny against the car. Their lips were inches apart, and Danny was almost thankful that he couldn't see Martin's eyes due to the lack of light. By the insistence of Martin's breath on his lips, and the fact that his body seemed to be pressed against Danny's in just the right places, Danny was pretty damn sure that whatever he might see in Martin's eyes would result in something wildly inappropriate for a public place.

Or colleagues.

Then again, he suddenly thought, it was Martin who had gotten them into this... situation. It had been entirely of Martin's volition that the car's doorhandle was digging into the back of his leg; that he was gripping the side mirror so hard he was afraid it might shatter.

The fact that Danny could not form one coherent thought that didn't revolve around all the things he wanted to do to Martin at that very moment was a testament to the effect his partner had on him.

He was screwed.

Danny's eyes snapped shut as Martin leaned in a little closer; he could taste Martin's coffee on his tongue. Just moments before Danny lost all self-control he felt Martin's breath again, but now at his ear.

He jolted as he felt Martin smile against his cheek as he spoke.

"Shotgun," he whispered.

And suddenly the superb weight that was pressing him into the car was gone.

* * *

Another chapter? I'm leaving it up to you guys!

Love.


	2. Chapter 2

**Spoilers:** It's World AIDS Day today, so I urge anyone reading to make a donation of any sort to the cause. It's definitely a worthy one.

**Disclaimer:** Oh, I know nothing (_nothing_) about Gridiron, so… This game is actually happening after Christmas, but we'll pretend it's sooner.

**Author's Note:** Well, I'll be updating (hopefully) a bit more now that we've all but finished our classes for the year. Yay! Wrote half of this in SOSE today, actually. Beat watching _Finding Nemo_. Again.

* * *

Danny looked out the window and tried not to groan; he cursed the New York traffic. After Martin had oh-so-casually called Shotgun, Danny had been left to fend for himself. Out of pure shock, he'd made his way around the car to the driver's seat, quite surprised that he could even walk.

Now in the car – and stuck in traffic – he glanced at Martin, whose eyes were closed. His face was serene save for the traces of a smirk.

Danny had told himself that he had just imagined what Martin had done, turned an accidental brush into something much, much more – it wouldn't be the first time. That's what he got for spending too much time with his partner outside of work.

This excuse would have worked had he not been able to smell Martin on his clothes.

Danny had the sudden urge to walk into a bar and tempt himself, if only to get rid of his damned libido. Maybe it would take enough concentration to get all thoughts of Martin – clothes or not – out of his head. At least for long enough to decide what the _hell_ was going on.

The thought exited his head as quickly as it had appeared; the logical part of him rather offended by the consideration.

He also realized that him driving had not been the most intelligent thing Martin had ever suggested. If he could have called it a 'suggestion'. Danny probably would have done anything Martin had suggested in that moment. He mentally shook himself out of that thought.

What was the etiquette, he asked himself, when driving yourself home in someone else's car while they were half asleep in the passenger seat? That was a situation Danny had never found himself in before – Martin had a habit of hurling him in unchartered territory. Deciding that talking would be more productive than thinking about things he really shouldn't be, Danny tried to think of a neutral conversation topic.

As he opened his mouth to speak, Martin's voice interrupted him.

"There a game on tonight?" he asked. Of all the things Martin could have said, that was the _last_ thing Danny would have expected. Struggling to comprehend Martin's sudden interest in sport, Danny shrugged.

"I think so, yeah," he managed with some semblance of normality. Martin nodded and opened his eyes. Danny's eyes snapped back to the road; staring at Martin was only acceptable for so long. And only when he wasn't aware of it. Martin's eyes also had an incorrigible tendency to distract Danny beyond redemption. Not good when driving.

"The, uh, Dolphins and the Jets," Danny managed to remember. Martin looked surprised for a second, then grinned at the coincidence.

"Tell ya what, Florida; Jets win, you're buying dinner, Dolphins win, I'm buying," Martin shot at him casually. Danny was taken aback. _What_ was Martin asking? And why was he talking about dinner?

He vaguely managed to keep the car on the road as images of himself, Martin and a couch that would inevitably be too small to maintain a comfortable distance apart, seeped unceremoniously into Danny's consciousness.

_Crap_, was all he thought before answering. Without considering the consequences of his actions, he glanced at Martin. Those ice blue eyes made up Danny's mind for him.

"Sure," he said casually. _Crap_. "You're on." _Crap!_ Now he was flirting. The side of him that liked to think that nothing was his fault blamed Martin. He'd started it, after all; at least on some level.

Danny's hands gripped the wheel a little bit tighter and he wasn't sure if he was angry at himself or at Martin.

* * *

Martin gestured to the open doorway with one graceful gesture. Danny smiled – inwardly wondering at the gesture – and took the cue, walking ahead of Martin into the apartment. It had been months and months since Danny had been to Martin's apartment. It had changed only in its cleanliness.

The first time Danny had been here was while Martin was still having problems with his pain killers. He knew from experience that junkies didn't tend to clean up all that much. Especially if they were taking pills to knock themselves out every night. Danny winced a little at the memory; the one time Martin had called him to help.

He'd arrived to find Martin slumped on the couch, unshaven, half-dressed, head heavy in his hands. He'd looked entirely lost, and utterly terrified. Danny had resisted the urge to comfort Martin; his behavior had been so uncharacteristic and that had worried Danny. That was when he knew there was something _really _wrong.

Martin, having since noticed Danny's hesitance - most probably from the fact that Danny still stood in the doorway – put a hand to his shoulder from behind him.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked, that troublesome little hint of concern in his voice that drove Danny slightly insane every time he heard it. Danny spun, forcing a smile and shaking his head self-deprecatingly.

"Yeah, fine," he lied. Martin grinned and gave Danny a playful shove.

"Well, then, can I come into my apartment, please?" he asked, his eyebrow doing that thing it did so often. Danny's smile was genuine this time as he moved aside, reveling in the momentary brush of Martin's arm against his chest.

"A bit eager, are we, Fitz?" Danny asked before he could stop himself. He cursed his habit of speaking before thinking. Why was it that he was mentally incapable of _not_ flirting?

He inwardly sighed as he noticed Martin's smirk; it seemed ironic that the awkwardness of before had been obliterated by flirting. What kind of logic was that?

Danny was getting sick of having to ask himself so many questions he didn't know the answer to.

Martin wandered into the apartment, flicking lights on and tossing things from one place to another as he went. Danny couldn't for the life of him figure out why. Martin's home would have made the Spartans proud. Danny wasn't surprised to see no family pictures around; there was, however, an impressive novel collection shelved neatly across one wall.

Danny wondered briefly if the habitual neatness was part of Martin's rehabilitation coping technique, or if he'd always been like this. Remembering the first time they'd met, Danny figured the latter.

"When do you find time to read all of this?" Danny called to Martin, who had since disappeared to a room that he figured it would be best not to think about right now. Danny heard a muffled _bang_, and then a grunt of question as Martin's form appeared from its mystery destination down the hall. Martin smiled sheepishly.

"I don't," he answered, the hint of a blush covering his cheeks. How was it possible, Danny wondered, to have no issues with pressing your partner against a car, but to be embarrassed by a book collection?

Curious, Danny swept his eyes over the spines of the very ordered books. He registered in the back of his mind the order: alphabetically within each genre. The cursory sweep, however, left him even more confused; there was nothing remotely odd about Martin's book collection. He decided that Martin was just having one of his shy moments.

Danny had vaguely registered that they tended to come about whenever something remotely personal was discussed that Martin wasn't in control of. This was just the first time he'd bothered to think about it with any kind of deliberation. Deciding to push the boundaries of Martin's control a little further, Danny asked another question.

"How long have you had these? Some of them look... well-read," he decided. Martin smiled this time, but his cheeks were still ever-so-slightly tinged pink.

"Most of them I've had since I was a kid," Martin told him, not quite knowing what had possessed him to tell Danny something personal, no matter how trivial. Danny's eyes found Martin's at the almost wistful tone of voice. He raised an all-too-enticing eyebrow, and Martin couldn't really help himself.

"They were more interesting than my parents' stories," he said with a wry smile. Danny smiled as well, but partially out of happiness that Martin had actually told him something. Before any more questions could be asked, Martin sucked in a deep breath. "Pizza sound good?" he asked as he moved to the couch to flick the television on. Danny nodded.

"Yeah, sure," he answered lamely, not sure how else to respond. It suddenly dawned on him where he was. He almost whimpered as he remembered just how long football games were. He didn't know if he could sit through all of that with Martin so close. Clenching his jaw, he pushed the thought from his mind; it was not going to help him get through the night.

Well, maybe once he got home, but that was a thought for another time. And most definitely another place.

"You want me to call?" he offered, simply to keep his mind off things it really shouldn't be on. Ever. And not just with Martin. Perhaps it was a good thing that there was nothing going on between the two of them. Considering the amount of time Danny spent thinking about Martin, he had a feeling he would be utterly consumed if he had anything _substantial_ to think about.

"Yeah, number's on the fridge," Martin told him. Danny thought it rather odd that someone as controlling as Martin would order takeout enough for the number to be on the fridge, but he let it go. It wasn't like he had much time to cook. Danny knew that any time he spent at his own apartment was spent sleeping.

Dialing the number, Danny glanced into the lounge room, where Martin sat almost spread-eagled on the couch. He looked so damn homely, and Danny almost forgot to order when the phone was answered. After hanging up, Danny hesitated a few seconds before heading out to join Martin, who moved slowly, pulling lean limbs towards his body, effectively claiming a side of the couch.

Danny smiled in thanks before pulling off both jackets and his tie, sitting down in a way that only Danny could manage; overconfident yet unthreatening. Danny knew he could charm just about anyone; he'd put it to the test more than enough times. But when _Martin_ was being confident, it threw him off. It was a dance they'd had for years: Danny flirting, Martin blushing, totally harmless.

Now, he wasn't so sure. It was more a competition to see who could last the longest. And it was anything but harmless. The horrible part for Danny was that he couldn't tell if Martin was actually reciprocating, or if he was just imagining it. Then that thought lead to the assurance that Danny was just in denial, and that only led to more confusion and more complications.

"Danny," he heard vaguely. His eyes snapped up to meet Martin's, concern etched in them.

"Mm?" was all he managed. Martin chuckled at him.

"You're out of it today, man, are you sure you're okay?" he asked, amusement joining the concern. Part of Danny wanted to yell, to tell Martin that no, things were not okay _because you pushed me against a car and I _really_ want to kiss you. Now_. The rational part of Danny, however, that was for once in control disliked the probable ending of that conversation.

"Yeah, it, uh, being in the bar, you know…" he lied. Probably not the best he'd ever come up with, and _oh God_. Now Martin was staring at him with those eyes again, concerned Martin-eyes, and Danny was pretty sure that if he kept staring, he would admit to some things he really would rather not.

"Yeah, I know," Martin replied with a self-mocking smile. Danny felt a little guilty. While it hadn't entirely been a lie – he had been pretty uncomfortable in the bar – he'd only really said it to get Martin to stop asking questions. And he'd reminded Martin of something he rather wished he hadn't.

"Sorry," he apologized. "Didn't mean to drag you down, just…" Danny let the sentence trail off, not knowing how to finish it. Martin smiled; a full smile this time, one Danny didn't think he saw _nearly_ often enough. He had to smile back.

Martin didn't acknowledge Danny's apology verbally, only nodded, and Danny was incredibly grateful. As much as he knew Martin understood, and as much as he wanted to make sure his partner was okay, he mostly just wanted to drop the subject. He hoped that if Martin had a problem he would tell him. Unlikely, but possible. He'd done it before.

* * *

Danny jumped at the sound of the bell, having until now totally forgotten the pizzas. The game was nearing the end of its second quarter, and the Jets were lagging by less than Danny cared to admit. He wasn't sure what it was, but there was some innate sense of enjoyment whilst watching the sport.

For one, he'd never been a big football fan; he'd always found better things to do, and had never really understood the psyche of the oversized morons who seemed to be the only ones that played. He'd only ever known one player with any knowledge that extended beyond the field: one of his high school's quarterbacks and _God,_ Danny had had it bad for the guy.

He smiled at the memory, only realizing he'd zoned out when Martin returned to the living room with a couple boxes of pizza. Martin threw a smirk in Danny's direction and all memories of the quarterback were gone.

Sitting in front of the TV, pizza in hand, work shirt partially unbuttoned; Danny was quite sure he'd never felt so masculine in his life. Ironic, considering he'd spent the last hour trying to curb his lust for another man.

Looking over at Danny, Martin smiled. Only Danny Taylor could look so at home in someone else's apartment. Especially one he's only ever been in once.

Danny, on the other hand, was surprised by just how _un_comfortable Martin looked. His tie was still on, shirt tucked in, buttoned to the collar… it was like _he_ was the guest. Danny knew that most people in his position would feel at least a little guilty for being so at ease in a house owned by someone with probable OCD. Danny chuckled at the thought, and Martin glanced at him, eyebrow raised.

"Something particularly amusing, Danny?" he asked, quite sure that he was the butt of the joke. He usually was.

Danny smirked at him.

"You, actually," Danny said without hesitation. Even after six years, Martin was constantly taken aback by Danny's absolute lack of tact. "You're still dressed," Danny clarified. Or tried to.

It was Martin's turn to raise an eyebrow, blushing ever so slightly. "So are you," he countered, not bothering to tell Danny the multitude of reasons why that comment was incredibly inappropriate. He was pretty sure Danny knew. Still, though, Danny was smirking at him, and he couldn't very well let him win.

"Yeah, but at least I'm comfortable," Danny prodded, emphasizing his statement by spreading out a little further on the couch, propping a foot on the coffee table. Danny briefly feared that he'd gone a little far in putting his feet up when Martin looked mutinous.

Suddenly, Danny found himself trying not to watch as Martin loosened his tie, unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt along the way. Danny pushed himself further into the couch, willing it to absorb him. He forgot his mission when Martin's tie hit him in the head.

Danny turned, eyebrow back in gear, his somewhat shaky breathing the only sign that anything was amiss. Martin grinned in response, and Danny could swear he was teasing him. Or trying to kill him.

He vaguely registered that Martin was talking to him before draping the tie around his own neck and _crap_, it smelled like Martin. Danny made a mental note that playing dress-ups in Martin's clothing was not, in fact, a good idea.

"_Danny_," Martin called for the fourth time, irritated when Danny's eyes remained fixed somewhere between his chest and something probably not on this plane of existence. It wasn't very often that Danny Taylor was speechless, and Martin had seen it – probably been the cause of it – at least three times in the past hour. Though relishing the fact that he had the _ability_ to reduce his usually relentless partner to silence, Martin wondered why it always had to have such bad timing.

Why could he never shut him up when he was being annoying?

He tried calling Danny's name once more, and when nothing happened, he gave up all sense of civility. Grabbing the tie around Danny's neck, he yanked him closer. Danny's eyes widened in shock but darkened in something Martin interpreted as permission.

As Martin's mouth assaulted his in the most wonderful way possible, Danny thought he'd pass out. The only thing that stopped him was the knowledge that if he did, Martin would stop. And that would be bad.

Danny's brain now refused to function on any level that would classify him as human; all the reasons that he had been stacking up for years as to why this would be a bad idea were simply gone. They were replaced by the simple fact that he was kissing Martin. And _God_, it felt good.

As Martin pulled away – all too soon – Danny was pretty sure he muttered something in Spanish, too far gone to be bothered with English. Though looking momentarily confused, Martin smiled at him. Danny couldn't tell whether the flush of Martin's cheeks was from embarrassment or the kiss.

As Martin's eyes flicked down to Danny's mouth again, Danny smirked, knowing full well the reason for Martin's current hue. And he was damn well going to make sure it stayed that way.

For as long as possible.

* * *


End file.
